


idiots in swimsuits

by Reginacorn



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Humanstuck, M/M, Smut, foodplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 12:16:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reginacorn/pseuds/Reginacorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eridan is a lifeguard and sollux thinks he can teach himself to swim</p>
            </blockquote>





	idiots in swimsuits

Honestly, you have no idea why this stupid bastard is constantly drowning. You have pulled him from the brink of death two times now, and you won’t do it a third.   
———-   
You do it a third.   
———  
 It’s exhausting work you know, cleaning up after bona fide idiots. Saving lives, swimming back and forth with an admittably light hunk of meat in your arms, then performing CPR. Honestly, if you’re going to make out with any man this much you should at least go on one date first.

Usually this job brings you nothing but joy, and CPR is only a problem for you if you have to preform it on those who aren’t really your type, and even then you only feel a mild disgust.   
But having to constantly preform CPR on this guy, no matter how hot he may be, well, for some reason it just vexes you to no end. He vexes you to no end!

It probably has to do with the fact that, despite you just having rescued him, every time he regains consciousness he always has a sassy remark to make.

You’re taking your break, this guy can drown for all you care, and he probably will under your replacement, a man notorious for just barely having qualified to become a lifeguard, hardly capable in the least. 

Nobody really knows his name, they just affectionately call him “the man" ( you aren’t really sure if this nickname began for the sake of irony, or if he started it himself, but either way its a pretty fucking stupid nickname)

He isn’t a bad guy, in fact he’s all right in your pocketbook, he’s just kind of incompetent. No one gives him shit for it once they get to know him though. He’s pretty charismatic, and makes up for lack of skill with that, inadvertedly drawing customers to the pool with his friendly chatter and pretty face. 

But enough about him. You are going to have a nice cup of coffe and read looking for Alaska in the comfort of silence. 

Coddamnit who just screamed?

There are two possibilities here; you think as you run towards the source of the screaming. Either your asshat father decided to expend his yearly prank on you by tossing a shark into your beloved swimming pool, or that douchebag is drowning again, unable to have his sorry ass saved by a real lifeguard.

As you suspected, it is the second, most likely option, your little friend is lying motionless on the pavement with “the man" panicking over him.

You bend over and watch “the man’s" face contort in relief before reaching fully down and beginning the routine performance that is CPR. If you’re getting anything out of this its a workout. 

Once the skinny little brunet is coughing and sputtering chlorine infested slobber all over your face you scoop him up into your arms, ignoring his protestations and asking him where he put his stuff. He uses both his middle fingers to point you in the direction of the locker room, (Heh. A classic) and then proceeds to flash you both birds twice to indicate his stuff is in locker 22.  You grab his red and blue duffel bag and throw it on his stomach, soliciting a small oof and a glare from him. 

He reaches into the bag and beseechingly pulls out a pair of red and blue rimmed glasses. You’re starting to notice a red and blue themed pattern here. Your eyes wander down to his trunks. Sure enough, they’re red and blue. You scoff, grabbing your stuff off of the break table and punching your time card out.

You’re a strong man, and he is light, but you can only take so much, so by the time you throw him onto the dark grey leather seat of your car you’re a little out of breath to say the least.

You walk around to the drivers side of your beloved and frankly quite conspicuous azure blue mclaren mp4-12c, you named him Tiberius (after the great roman general, duh) in hopes that he would one day become your steed on the path to world domination. 

You jam your keys into the ignition, seahorse trinket dangling from your keychain and clattering loudly against the dashboard. He turns towards you. “so, you don’t know my name and I don’t know yours, and you somehow, magically believe its a good idea to shove me into your damn expensive looking car and drive me god knows where, to do god knows what, and on that note, somehow magically, I am not calling the police on your sorry ass."   
You take note of his lisp which has grown significantly stronger now that he is practically fuming, and then go on to speak. “Yeah, basically you’re causing some shit to go down at my swimming pool. which is pretty much unacceptable at any time so I’m just going to drag you to my house and teach you how to swim until you transform into a no longer incompitent fuck. Then im going send you on your merry way so you don’t have to bother me with your dumbfucking drowning anymore. Got it?" 

"Actually, I don’t “got it" I’m so far from getting it its fucking ridiculous, so enlighten me, why the hell are you dragging a complete stranger off to your house?" 

"I hardly think we’re strangers after making out so much, but go ahead, hurt my feelings see if I care." You say sardonically.

He is practically screaming at this point “I don’t even know your fucking name!" 

"Oh, how rude of me, I’m Eridan Ampora. What’s your name, dumbass?

He seems shocked “Eridan Ampora. Of Ampora aquatics?"

You smile. “I did say it was my pool, didn’t I?"

That seems to shut hm up long enough for you to actually start moving. You give Tiberius’s dashboard a small pat of apology for making him wait before pushing the button on the panel that opens the gate leading from the parking lot to a path that trails up to your house. 

The Pool is basically your back yard, and your only way to continue your fortune. Your dad said if you wanted to keep riding his coattails you had to at least buy some oars. So you did, you started the pool and payed it back with the profit you earned (well half of it at least, the other half was a birthday present to you from your dad). 

You live in comfortable fortune, but you enjoy being a lifeguard. Constantly wearing a swimsuit appeals to some people, so you are hit on quite often, which is a plus, except for when creeps decide to hit on you. Or children. THATS always awkward.

But you enjoy being a lifeguard regardless of all that. Except for when this asshole is involved. He sucks the fun out of everything, the ungreatfull asshat that he is. 

You pull into your driveway with a sigh, opening the door and watching a trickle of water seep out. Poor Tiberius. 

He notices you looking at the water and kind of shrugs at you as if to say, hey, it’s your own fault. You slam the door and glare at him, ushering the dripping figure through the dark wooden front door, and then closing it behind you. You’ll have to text someone so they can drain Tiberius while you’re teaching this fucker to swim.

You walk through the sterile black marble living room, breathing in the familiar scent of lilac and leading the awestruck runt further within your house until you arrive in a silver and blue room, the ceiling rippling with the reflection of water. A large pool shaped like a kidney bean sits in the midst of various extremely chic lavender and aqua lawn chairs.

"Okay, ready for some swimming lessons fuckwad?" 

He slowly turns to face you, his features drawn into a tight, enraged expression. “No, I’m not ready, I never was, and I probably never will be. Give me an example, if you please, of one time I ever fucking agreed to being dragged out here. One time I said sure, I’d love some fucking swimming lessons. Oh what’s that, nothing? That’s because I never did!" At this point he’s backing you up and through the doorway. You’re going to have to lead him into your room in case if you need easy access to your intercom and an abundance of escape routes, seeing as its in the very center of your house and you have plenty of doors leading to hallways in it. 

You zone back in, paying attention to his ramblings and trying to deduce wether he’s a madman who intends to grab a weapon and kill you, or just really ticked off.   
"I’m sick and tired of your mysterious multimillionaire act, your expensive ass stuff, and the fact that you could probably take me in a fight with one or two pinkies and you’re still backing up!" 

He makes wide gestures up and down your person, and then grabs his head and groans angrily. Your heels hit the wood of your dresser. 

"But you know what i hate the most about your pompous ass?" He questions, gripping your t-shirt in a bunched fist. “It’s that it’s so goddamn attractive!" His hand comes over and grabs your ass. He touched the butt. The butt has been touched. Holy shit.

Your eyes widen and you tense up at the contact, but before long your body relaxes and your face sets into a smirk. “So that’s the game you’re playing at, huh? You grab his ass in return. A bit bony, but not too shabby. “Don’t worry, hate sex IS a new concept, but it’s not one I mind TOO terribly." He squeaks a little bit, and you chuckle, causing his face to display newfound determination.

You hoist him on to your bed and then crawl on top of him, watching him struggle to right himself before pinning him down.

"You caused me a lot of trouble today, you know. I had to use mouth to mouth resuscitation on you at least four times. I wonder how you’re going to make all that up to me?" 

"Please. As if I’d-" you cut him off by smashing your lips against his. Painful, but effective. He reciprocates in full, beginning a heated make out session.

You trail your hands slowly down his sides to his knees, then spread his legs, reaching underneath him to peel of his swimsuit. He wiggles the rest of the way out of it and kicks it to the side, making contact with your leg in the process, which you figure is entirely intentional.   You begin to rub his dick slowly, stroking up and down until his partially erect penis becomes fully erect and he pants desperately into your lips, hot breath fogging your glasses and low moans sending waves of electricity from your ears to your back to your lower regions. You break off the kiss to remove your shirt and use the newfound breath to make a snarky comment.

"Are you tentative or just trapped in your own little bubble of ecstasy, because I’ve been noticing a distinct lack of focus on my lower regions if you know what I mean, you little shit."

"I’m sorry if I can’t get into jerking off someone who tastes like the chlorine I’ve had the pleasure of drowning in all day." “All right then." You say, and you reach across the bed and down to a mini fridge thats laying on the floor. You open the door and pull out a can of whip cream, and he simply stares at you incredulously. 

"What, it’s not like I just keep whipped cream in a mini fridge by the side of my bed for sexual purposes." Total lie. The ladies love foodplay, you have six different types of chocolate in there too. And a banana. “Besides, I love whipped cream." THAT isn’t a lie, who doesn’t love whipped cream? You pour some into your mouth for show, and then pour some more all over his face for your own viewing pleasure.

"Aww, getting ahead of ourselves, are we? Because, that IS how your face is gonna look when I’m done with you, you know." You snicker lightly at the admittably hot, completely glowering face laying on your bed. Being aloud to smack talk your partner during intercourse has made this the best sexual experience you’ve had in a while.

He slowly reaches up to wipe the cream off his face then smears it on your bed sheets. You flinch a bit, but the mess is definitely fixable. “Oh, it’s ON you bastard." He lunges at you, pushing you down and tearing off your swim trunks. Before you can knock him over he begins to stroke your sorely ignored dick, causing you to arch up into his touch and your face to flush profusely, mouth hanging open before you quickly snap it shut, a small moan escaping before being completely cut off. 

He begins to experiment applying different types of pressure in different places up and down your length, observing your facial expressions intently before falling into a particularly torturous pattern and moving on to bite your neck. Holy shit you love having your neck being bitten. Goddamn, he found your weakness too quickly.

With each bite, each stroke, you thrust up into his touch, too loose, not enough to pleasure you but enough to send tingles all over your body, but namely to your groin. You let out a particularly loud moan, then hoist yourself up, reciprocating his heated touch, stroking him slowly, not passionately, but inefficiently. 

It’s his turn to groan needily and thrust into your hand. You’re both hot messes, moaning, panting loudly, climaxing into each others palms and then weakly fighting over who gets what side of the bed. He ends up just laying on top of you in the middle of the bed, in the middle of your room, In the middle of your house. Satisfied at the warmth of each others bodies.

Fucking shit. You never asked his name. That’s gonna be awkward in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> "In fact, he's all right in your pocketbook" in case some of you didn't get that it was in reference to the phrase he's all right in your book, but he says pocketbook instead indicating that the amount of people who are all right in his book is pretty small


End file.
